


Here in your doorway

by AdikaOfMandalore



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mando may have a son, Sad Ending, but who's to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:54:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdikaOfMandalore/pseuds/AdikaOfMandalore
Summary: «Leave, Din. – You seethe, pressing your son protectively closer to you, when he doesn’t show the slightest intention of moving the unreadable T visor of his helmet away from the chubby, dark haired child in your arms. His name tastes of dust and unkept promises on your tongue. – Do what you’re best at, and leave me the fuck alone.»
Relationships: Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin & You, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 82





	Here in your doorway

You snuggled closer to his side, a content sigh escaping your parted lips when you felt him shifting ever so slightly against the log to better welcome you in his arms.

«Are you cold?» the Mandalorian you were almost completely splayed on asked in a whisper, his voice so low and sleepy, the modulator of his helmet barely caught it. You picked up the question simply because your head was by then tucked under the chiselled chin of pure Beskar of the headgear, his tepid breath caressing ever so lightly the top of your head. Your hair probably tickled his chin, but he didn’t seem to really mind and pressed you closer to his armoured chest. The durasteel he was covered in wasn’t that much more comfortable than the trunk you were previously using as a pillow, but he was warm and his placid, controlled breathing calmed you almost instantly. 

Using your last reserves of energy before letting the god of sleep reclaim your consciousness for the night, you wholly straddled him, encasing the both of you in the cocoon of your wool blanket, and hid once again your head under his.

«’M okay» you eventually mumbled, diving a hand under his shirt collar to trace the coarse cord of his necklace, before holding the mythosaur as an anchor. Din’s skin was feverish against the back of your hand and you nestled closer to him, the hunger for his warmth devouring you whole.

«You deserve more than sleeping outside on the ground, ner kar'ta.»

«I wouldn’t change it for anything in the whole galaxy – you promised, eyes closed and ready to lose yourself in a dream. – I’m happy with you, Din.»

–

«No discount, friend. – You subtly roll your eyes at the Gran’s grunts of protest, and use the rag you keep tucked on your utility belt to wipe away the grease from your hands, cocking an eyebrow at her next string of curse words. – Any lower, and I wouldn’t even have enough credits to buy myself lunch. Let alone pay taxes! Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Rika! My prices are more than fair for my services. I am the best mechanic in town and we both know that. You said so yourself last cycle. How many podraces did you win thanks to my tweaks?»

At that, the lanky female alien narrows her three, goat-like eyes and huffs.

“Yeah, thought so”, you internally snicker, taking your pad to control for better measure the necessary fixings and the prices for each spare part. Then you show her the screen, so that she can see you’re being as honest with the costs as a mechanic of Tatooine can afford.

«Let’s say half now, half at the end of the reparations? Creamy. Always a pleasure making affairs with you, friend.»

With a sigh, you watch the Gran leave the front room of your workshop, still grumbling under her breath like the old bantha that she is, then you go to the office at the back of the garage, stopping with a hip against the threshold and a raised eyebrow. You thought you heard “blaster shots” coming from here.

«Ahem» you theatrically clear your throat, when your little boy doesn’t seem to notice you standing by the door, studying him playing around. More than likely pretending to be a Rebellion hero, by the orange symbol he clumsily painted on his jacket right sleeve. You sigh at the sight, hoping it’ll get clean. He flinches when he eventually sees you there and you notice that he took off his hearing aids.

’Thought I told you to do your homework, mister.’ You sign, pursing your lips and nodding eloquently towards your desk, now reduced to a mess of colouring pencils and paper soldiers thanks to your son’s ministrations. The holo-pad showcasing a string of arithmetic problems completely discarded in a corner. He didn’t even started, the little scoundrel!

«But mamaaa» he huffs loudly, stomping a foot to the ground with another dramatic whimper. You look at him, unimpressed and well accustomed to his temper, and merely make your way towards the table, pointing quite eloquently at the pad, the other hand finding its way on your hip. 

Your mother used to do the same thing, when you were about his age, and it usually worked with you. Granted, back then you weren’t as stubborn as he is. You got to thank the father, for that.

‘Homework. Then games. And where did you put your hearing device, now? Did you lose it again?’

'I don’t want it. They made fun of me.’ Hedrops his gaze in shame and you are immediately on your knees, two fingers under his chin to force him to look up at you.

'Oh, my precious star. Who did-?’

The bell rings; a client just came in. You glance towards the door with a sigh. Perfect timing. 

You decide to make them wait a while, but then… they call your name. Your real name. The one you haven’t heard in almost nine years and wished you’d never hear ever again. Because there’s only one person – presumably – still alive that knows you by that moniker.

'Do your homework. Then we’ll talk. Okay? And later I’ll make you cookies, what do you say?’

'Deal.’

–

«Deal.»

«Wait- really?»

«But you promise me you’ll be careful. And that you won’t spend all of your credits on trinkets. Especially if they’re for me.»

«Din-» you pouted, taking one of his hands in yours with a pleading look, but it was like trying to move a block of marble. Well, beskar and durasteel, in that case.

«Promise.»

«Ugh. Fine.» Ofcourse, you were going to buy him a present anyway. He always did come back with a little something that “reminded me of you, mesh'la”. And you knew his birthday was around the corner, so this little trip to the market he allowed you on your own while he was meeting an informer for his next bounty job? No way you were going to keep your word.

So a gift you bought.

But he wasn’t there to receive it.

–

You feel like moving through molasses. Your feet dragging you back through weeks and months and years, until you’re finally there, in that market, with Din’s gloved hands in yours and his promise of joining you soon still lingering in the air.

That air now is stale in your lungs, the stalls and clamouring merchants replaced by walls of dark cement, neat shelves with scrap metals and dismantled pods and speeders scattered all around. Your hands clench in tight fists, while your eyes roam over the Mandalorian standing right on the other side of the counter. His armour is different,you notice, silver and new, instead of burnished and patchy, but you know it’s him. And the fact the he calls you by your real name once again simply confirms it.

He takes a step closer to you and you one away.

«No – you nearly spat. – Out. Get out of my workshop, you piece of poodoo.»

«Mama?» A frail, acute voice calls from the arch that leads to the back of the building. It’s a miracle your heart doesn’t jump out of your chest, when you turn around and see your son standing at the threshold with his head confusedly tilted to one side, almond, dark eyes blinking slowly towards the armoured bounty hunter before you.

’It’s okay, sweetie. Go finish your homework.’ You sign, refusing to meet the man’s insistent black visor.

’Is the sir a Mandalorian?’

«You have a kid?» You pretend you don’t hear his modulated voice catch and suffocate towards the end of the question and welcome your little prince in your arms when he scurries to you, curious gaze still focused on the new arrived. He pouts when you force him against you, but you don’t intend for him to read your lips when you’re about to shoot some pretty coloured insults at the Mandalorian.

«Leave, Din. – You seethe, pressing your son protectively closer to you, when he doesn’t show the slightest intention of moving the unreadable T visor of his helmet away from the chubby, dark haired child in your arms. His name tastes of dust and unkept promises on your tongue. – Do what you’re best at, and leave me the fuck alone.»

«Is he-?»

«I asked you to leave, I won’t repeat myself.»

«Please, I need to-»

«No. He’s not yours. – You interrupt him, quickly, emotionless. You keep your eyes on your son’s dark curls. – The door is that way. Goodbye.» Pulling your little boy with you, you start towards the back of the garage, but Din’s next, breathy words stop you dead on your tracks. It takes everything in you to not just grab the blaster you keep under the counter and shot him where the armour doesn’t cover him.

«I’m sorry.»

«Bit late for that, don’t you think?» An empty laugh, while you sign to your son to go and wait for you. 

He must see something in your eyes, because, for once, he doesn’t throw a fit and, after stealing one last, quick glance at the silver warrior, he hastily disappears under the threshold of your office. Din follows him with a broken breath, body tense and hunched over, so you know he didn’t completely believe you, before.

«I just want you to know- I’m not asking for forgiveness.» He then starts, voice low and slow, as if he can’t quite find the right words to put sound to his frenetic thoughts. 

He thinks of the kid, asleep on the Crest, he thinks of how he should be looking for a job, right now, but, for the most part, he thinks of you and the little, brown-haired boy in your arms, how the pout of his lips reminds him of his mother’s and his eyes his own, even though he has your same, intense gaze. He thinks of you, standing in front of him, all those years ago, promising him you wouldn’t buy him anything, even though he knew you’d do it anyway. You were stubborn like that. He thinks of how his heart withered and crumbled when he boarded the Crest without you. Of how he lost himself, afterwards.

«Good to know – you hiss, forcing him back to the present. Your eyes are glinting, your hands trembling. But Din doesn’t dare reaching for you. He lost that right the day he left you. – Now leave, I am busy.»

«I regret it every single day – he forces out, because he at least owes you that. An explanation. That’s the reason he convinced himself to show up, in the end. He never stopped keeping an eye on you, well, enough to know you’re still on Tatooine and opened a successful repair shop, but was too coward to show up. And then… then it was too late. But now that he’s running from the imps to protect a child? Now that he’s sure his death’s nearing? He needed to hear your voice one last time. He needed to tell you. – Leaving you- it’s been the hardest decision I’ve ever made. But I’d do it again.»

«So let me take this straight. You appear, after tenyears, to, what, exactly? Tell me you’d gladly leave me behind again? How the fuck did you even find me?»

«I left to protect you, my life-»

«Please, don’t. Save this bullshit for the next idiot that falls for you and your stupid lies.» You hate him; you hate how your voice breaks with unshed tears. You cried so much, those first months after you found yourself, alone, in one of the many markets of Tatooine, with nothing but your clothes and a leather purse of credits – Din’s – you didn’t know you even had on your bag. 

You’ve been worried to death for him, then scared for yourself, then angry, because that purse made you realize he’s been planning it and perhaps there was never a snitch to meet, and, at the end, resigned. You promised you’d never cry for him, but there you are. Another promise that won’t be kept.

«You left me behind, Mando. – Oh, how you take pleasure in seeing him flinch like that at the moniker . – I’ll meet with the informant and then I’ll be back to you, you said. Next thing I know, I’m alone in the middle of the market. Alone and beari- and with you nowhere in sight! I looked for you, you know? I was so scared something happened to you. That the informant somehow turned on you. And when they told me they saw a Mandalorian taking off with the Crest the same morning we arrived? I waited. Like the fool I was, I waited for you. So fuck you and your “I did it to protect you”s, because you didn’t! You’re the one that hurt me in the worst possible way. Why did you come back, uh? Why couldn’t you just stay away? Maker, I wish you died.»


End file.
